


fighting to reach the sunlight, purely instinct

by silhouettedsilver



Series: music of the sky [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Sky Gods - Freeform, Trauma, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Video Game Mechanics, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29489907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silhouettedsilver/pseuds/silhouettedsilver
Summary: Wilbur broke, in the games. He broke and broke and broke at the hands of the Sky Gods.This is why they let him out.The Sky Gods let their broken toys out into the world, and watch with delight as they infect and infest and hurt those around them. They offer them all once last chance at mercy, and then smile as the mind does the rest of the work for them.Wilbur was sixteen when he was taken by the Sky Gods. He has no idea how old he is when he’s released into the world, given a stone sword that probably has a handful of swings left and some pieces of zombie meat and told to figure out his own happy ending. He has no map, no indication of where he is, and it is nearly sunset.So, Wilbur survives.He has a family to get back to, after all.
Series: music of the sky [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155653
Comments: 17
Kudos: 245





	1. my world ended, but we're all still here

**Author's Note:**

> fic title is from a poem i wrote that no one's seen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title isnt from anything

They change, of course, but who wouldn’t?

Who doesn’t change in some capacity when faced with immeasurable loss?

Wilbur wasn’t the only one taken--the Sky Gods rarely come down for one person, after all. Their games typically involve many. Tommy’s best friend, Tubbo, had both of his parents taken. A kingdom to the west lost one of their best knights. Some people just never come home.

Philza took Tubbo in without a question. He doesn’t care what other royals and emperors and nobles say about him, doesn’t care about their comments of how he’ll take in any dirty street child in need. 

It’s true, after all. He won’t let any child suffer. They can scorn him for taking in the son of a trusted advisor all they wish, he’s not letting this poor boy face the world without support. They can say it like it’s a bad thing all they want, but if they have so much against it they can talk to him directly

(No one does, of course)

Philza gets far more protective over his children with the eldest gone. He does not let another slip through his grasp. His behavior is what Tommy would used to complain as suffocating. Before, of course, when Tommy didn’t walk around with grief in his eyes and two discs his oldest brother had composed held tightly to his chest.

Technoblade gets both closer and distant. When he’s around, he’s around. He’s no longer secluding himself as much as he used to. He knows what happened in better detail than Wilbur likely thought he would. He knows, deep down, that Wilbur could have said no, and only didn’t for his sake.

He’s studied the Sky Gods fiercely since his twin disappeared. Poured over pages and pages while staying awake outside of the room the two youngest sleep in. He wasn’t going to be sleeping easily anyways, and he doesn’t think he can use his normal distraction methods when there are two children who the Sky Gods have already hurt sleeping, unguarded.

(Well, it wasn’t  _ sleeping  _ the first night. The second night Technoblade softly opened the door, and told the two too-tired boys that he was outside. 

Tommy told him not to die. He told Tommy that he wouldn’t be the one dying if someone tried to hurt them.

The boys are able to sleep that night, no longer not-sleeping and no longer unguarded.)

He does become distant though, despite his fierce protective nature that has only grown with Wilbur gone. Physically, at least. When research and information accessible at home runs out, he’s gone to search beyond the arctic. He’s never gone for too long and consistently sends home letters. They’re usually too-short and too-blunt, but his father had taken him aside and said he would not stop him from travelling on the condition he was updated somewhat. 

Tommy grows louder with Wilbur gone. It’s far more fake, far more angry--he’s filling up the space that was once filled with gentle music and teasing words with shouts and yells. He pushes and pokes and tests boundaries. He’s not rude or uncaring, he’s just  _ loud  _ and  _ aggressive.  _ One day he brings a while beehive into the castle and sticks it into his and Tubbo’s shared room, cursing everyone and their bloodlines the whole way.

(Tubbo confessed he likes bees, and was saddened there were few in the tundra. Tommy stole it from the farm the Empire had.)

(Philza just chides him gently, but lets him keep it. He makes a spot for it in the room, with flowers and all, and teaches them how to hold them without hurting them.)

Their family is not perfect. Far from it, in fact. They’d already been mismatched and stitched together, and now they're torn and ragged.

But they’ll be damned if they fall apart, because the oldest son needs a family to return to.

* * *

He would like the record to show that even though he broke, he still made it out.

And--of  _ course  _ he broke. He was a mortal at the whims of cruel gods who loved to break and break and break. Wilbur, the soft-hearted, quick-witted, silver-tongued musician against the Sky Gods? There was never a chance.

He fell apart, he shattered. He screamed and cried and begged and killed and laughed and died and died and died.

And then he’d wake up in a new place, surrounded by borders that reached too high and too deep for him to escape, and it would all start anew.

He’ll admit he regrets his decision some days--on the days where his body is stained in blood and dirt and mud and the beating of the sun on his back feels more like eyes than any sort of warmth or comfort. 

It’s not a permanent regret, though, just a nagging feeling that perks up in his mind. It’s not even necessarily when things are actively terrible. It’s also when things are quiet and he’s living in constant fear because he doesn’t know what this next game is. It’s when he’s prepared and doing well and wishes that he stopped defining good days as days where he  _ might  _ live to see noon.

But Wilbur does, in fact, make it out. He even finds out he’s not the only one. The Sky Gods do let people out sometimes. Their games are not inescapable.

Of course, you have to meet a certain...criteria.

Wilbur broke, in the games. He broke and broke and broke at the hands of the Sky Gods.

This is why they let him out.

(There was a man Wilbur heard of once. Never saw him with his own eyes, but certainly heard of him when he was new to his father’s care. A man that appeared one day and seemingly lived for cruelty. He wasn’t a murderer, though, but his victims would wish that he was when he was done with them. He was found and executed after a rather straightforward trial, and Wilbur can remember hearing whispers that he laughed genuinely when he heard of his death sentence.)

(He was the Sky Gods’ doing, Wilbur now knows. He does not need to be told.)

The Sky Gods let their broken toys out into the world, and watch with delight as they infect and infest and hurt those around them. They offer them all once last chance at mercy, and then smile as the mind does the rest of the work for them. 

Wilbur was sixteen when he was taken by the Sky Gods. He has no idea how old he is when he’s released into the world, given a stone sword that probably has a handful of swings left and some pieces of zombie meat and told to figure out his own happy ending. He has no map, no indication of where he is, and it is nearly sunset.

Wilbur does not fear mobs. Death does not scare one when they’ve experienced it so many times. He still has not made up his mind if survival is the right thing for him to do--he’s more acting out of habit. The thought that he chanted in the back of his mind and let sink down into his bones, the idea that  _ my family wouldn’t want me to die here. _

So, Wilbur survives.

He’s dropped in a plains biome, with no trees for miles around. He drops himself into a partially-buried lake without a second thought, uncaring as the water immediately soaks his lower body. He haphazardly moves dirt to cover up as much of the opening and just gets ready to wait.

It’s not cold enough that the water is dangerous. It’s mostly just uncomfortable, but he can deal with that. There was a game where the world was flooded. He can survive this.

Out of the sight of the sky, he finds it easier to tell himself that the water will not rise. There are rustlings above ground--bones clacking, groans, hisses, soft footsteps that speak of beings that will kill him as soon as he shows his face.

He sits in the water, stone sword in hand, and waits out the night.

He has a family to get back to, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably wont reply to comments unless they ask a question i want to answer because social interaction is hard so just in general thank you to nice/good comments
> 
> also chapter lengths are whatever this fic is purely self-indulgent so


	2. a safe haven of stone, clad in colors of rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger looks like he’s planting carrots. Wilbur never planted any himself, but he’s seen them growing and snatched them out of the ground without remorse. Food is food, and putting in the ground is just inviting someone else to take it when their back is turned.  
> Wilbur is running low on food. The farm is nice. The individual does not look threatening.  
> He wavers in uncertainty. What monarch is undefended? What monarch would stand outside their walls, so close to the wilderness, without some sort of plan?  
> “Eret,” A voice calls, soft and oddly accented in a way Wilbur never heard before. “You seem to have a visitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title isnt from anything
> 
> i might rewrite this in the future idk if i like how it turned out

Wilbur survives the night.

He climbs out and ruins the stone sword killing cows on the plains. The first time he did this, he spent the whole time forcing himself to not think of his youngest brother. It’s gotten easier, sickeningly, and he tries to focus on getting a meal rather than the small cow hybrid he last saw years ago.

He gets enough leather that he knows he’ll be able to craft some shoddy armor pieces later. He bundles up the raw meat into one of the pieces of leather, and drapes it over his shoulder. 

He heads towards the sun rising. It’s the easiest way to keep track of what direction he’s travelling in, and it’s not like he can see anything but plains to give him a better indication of where to go.

He eventually finds a birch forest, thankfully. He spends the day breaking apart sticks and branches to make basic tools. When night falls again he has a safe place in the side of a mountain, charcoal torches keeping everything alight. 

He had cleaned the leather in a lake and now tans it in the safety of the small cave as night falls. He makes himself new pants and boots, stripping the soaking wet rags he had and tossing them aside. They can’t be salvaged, too torn and ripped and stained. They hold no value to him anyway--any clothing he had had on when brought into the Sky Gods’ games was lost long ago.

There are some scraps leftover, and he uses that as a sort of pillow to rest his head as he lies down. He does not sleep, not really--he’s too on edge for that. But lying down when he is safe is crucial, he’s found. If he pushes his body too much physically it may give out at the wrong time. Even if his mind cannot rest, he might as well let his body.

After an hour or so he finally is too restless, and begins to collect more stone. He carefully fashions his own stone tools with years of experience, and manages to get a bit of iron and coal before the sun properly rises over the horizon.

It’s when he’s packing up to head out and debating if he can bring the torches or not that he remembers his inventory.

The Sky Gods blocked off many things--inventory, communicators, activity lists. Their games thrived on making the players powerless, and removing those things definitely helped them with that.

He tentatively reaches out a hand and tries to open his inventory.

It opens.

He stares at the empty boxes for a while, before the sense of wasting daylight hits him and he grabs everything he can, even the badly-built birch door. He puts the tools and food in his hotbar, and has to remind himself that he has more than just that on him.

He moves until twilight. He makes a temporary haven, waits out the night, then moves again.

He repeats this for some time, only staying in one place for longer if he loses track while mining. He had never mined before the Sky Gods, never had a reason to delve underground for stronger weaponry when it was available to steal or later given to him freely.

The idea of settling down somewhere is lost to him. For one, it feels too close to giving up. To accepting this as his ending and resigning himself to living out his days in the middle of nowhere. 

Another reason is that Wilbur isn’t someone who  _ settles down.  _ His whole life he’s been wandering, with the only reprieve being the few years with his adoptive father, Philza. Before, the twins had been always forced to move--to escape from mobs or hostile people who scorned their hybrid nature, or just to find someplace better, more livable. 

And, well, the Sky Gods didn’t exactly let their games run long.

He hates the armor he forges, detests it with his entire being. They had never been clad in armor before the empire, opting for speed and evasiveness in place of direct combat when possible. Technoblade took up armor when they were taken in, but Wilbur hadn’t. He wasn’t a fighter. He didn’t  _ want  _ to be a fighter. He wanted to be an older brother, a writer, a  _ musician _ .

He wears the iron armor now, even though he still loathes it and everything it represents. It’s clunky and heavy, but it’s  _ safe.  _ Safer, at least. He didn’t make it through the games just to die to a sneaky creeper. He can deal with it. He’s dealt with worse.

He doesn’t actively keep track of time when he travels because there’s little point in it. His mind tries to unconsciously keep track of the days, but he knows he’s off due to time underground sometimes lasting longer than he can mentally keep track of. 

So, he’s not sure of how long has passed when he finally reaches what looks like civilization.

Or at least, the first hints of it.

There’s what looks like the back of a castle in the distance, which is odd because it only looks like there’s a small strip of developed land before the building itself. Wilbur has seen castles, with walls and defenses and more than just a bit of farmland to keep out invaders from scaling up the back walls. Well, to be fair, there  _ is  _ a back wall, it’s just that there’s a grand entrance with  _ no door  _ so Wilbur doesn’t know if it really counts.

It’s not even an abandoned castle--the stone doesn’t look old, and the farm looks like it was just tended to recently.

Really recently.

He stops, sudden and fearful in the trees, when he sees a figure emerging from the back of the castle. The red cloak is a different style and the crown’s jewels are sparkling the rainbow’s hues instead of just a random assortment of colors, but memories of Technoblade still come into Wilbur’s mind unbidden.

The individual appears human, but Wilbur supposes the same could be said for him. 

Wilbur grips the iron sword in his hand. The individual is not wearing armor. They have a sword, though, strapped to their side--diamond and enchanted. They have a stronger sword, but Wilbur has armor and is willing to bet has a better will to live.

He’s silent, in his approach to the edge of the treeline. The stranger--the monarch of this land, perhaps--does not seem to notice him. They instead look over the crops with eyes covered with sunglasses and carefully tend to them.

Technoblade used to be interested in farming also. Their father was going to take him out to the fields when the weather got nicer to show him first hand how to plant some crops. Technoblade had been spending the whole night before their birthday researching, looking for the ideal crop to start with. 

(Wilbur wonders, briefly, if Technoblade ever decided on a plant. He’d suggested potatoes himself, but his brother had been uncertain at the idea.)

(He wonders if Technoblade ever got shown those fields when the weather got nicer. Wonders if Technoblade ever got to plant down roots after Wilbur was taken away.)

The stranger looks like he’s planting carrots. Wilbur never planted any himself, but he’s seen them growing and snatched them out of the ground without remorse. Food is food, and putting in the ground is just inviting someone else to take it when their back is turned.

Wilbur is running low on food. The farm is nice. The individual does not look threatening.

He wavers in uncertainty. What monarch is undefended? What monarch would stand outside their walls, so close to the wilderness, without some sort of plan?

“Eret,” A voice calls, soft and oddly accented in a way Wilbur never heard before. “You seem to have a visitor.”

There’s another individual, with blonde hair that reaches their shoulders and brown roots just starting to show. They look at Wilbur in wariness, an iron sword strapped to their own hip that they rest their hand on the hilt of.

The monarch, Eret, snaps to look at them and then follows their gaze to Wilbur. He’s tense, his sword raised to attack but his body ready to flee.

“Greetings,” Eret says, his voice far deeper than expected. His voice is steady and his hand does not go to his own sword. “We’ll show you no harm if you show no harm in turn.”

Wilbur does not lower his sword.

Eret does not seem deterred, though, strangely. “My name is Eret. I am the king of these lands. I use any pronouns. I do not seek battle, but instead strive to preserve peace. If you seek war, though, you will not like what you find.”

Wilbur’s so tired of fighting. He doesn’t understand why anyone would ever seek war.

He decides to proceed peacefully, but carefully.

“My name is Soot.” He says, his voice raspy and hoarse from disuse. “I am a man seeking peace and refuge.”

It’s not a lie. His name was Soot, long ago. Back when it was just the twins versus the world. They hadn’t known their birth names and picked their own. Soot and Blade, the two young boys who named themselves.

Later, he became Wilbur and his twin expanded his name to Technoblade. He’d be called Soot by his blood brother sometimes as a nickname, to the point where his adoptive family would sometimes refer to him as Wilbur Soot.

(Now-names, they called their current names. They divided their lives by the now-names and then-names. It perhaps didn’t make much sense to others, but they both knew words had meaning and names could hold power. It made sense to them, and that’s all that mattered.)

He’s not comfortable telling this strange king his now-name yet. He has no idea what political relations are, and one of the last things he wants to be is a political prisoner to be used against the empire he called home.

The individual with the strange accent looked him over, before smiling and letting go of their sword. “I’m Nihachu, but you can call me Niki. I use female pronouns. And if you’re looking for refuge, you’ve found it.” She grins at him, fully relaxed and trusting even though he is still a stranger in the garden of the king.

Eret also smiles. “Welcome, Soot, to the Dream SMP.”

* * *

These lands are strange.

Wilbur finds he doesn’t mind it.

Eret is king of Essempi, the main lands of Dream SMP. Niki is the president of the neighboring land of L’Manburg, and nearby is a territory called the Badlands (which has no official leader but often look to a man called BadBoyHalo for major decisions).

The land here is small and barely populated. Each territory only holds a handful of people, if that. It’s more of a larger group of friends than several countries, Eret admits, but they are still proud of it. They are peaceful and self-sustaining here. They are fine with being small and remote if it means friendships can prosper and people can be free.

He’s taken to meet Dream himself--these lands were originally his, before he gave it over to Eret, who in turn let it split further. The man did not want to be a ruler, just wanted to keep people protected. One of the unspoken rules, however, was that Dream was to meet any newcomers. It was more a tradition than a requirement, but it was one born out of respect for the original holder of the area.

Wilbur was fine with that. He understood that, logically. These lands were small and one malevolent person could cause a lot of damage.

Dream’s house--a shared one, apparently, with two of his closest friends--is odd. It’s built out of bricks and leaves and stone, and a peak through one of the windows reveals a floor of crafting tables.

Eret knocks on the door, and Wilbur takes off his helmet out of a sign of respect for whoever may open it. He had not been told to take off his armor, but on the way over Eret had informed him quietly that in L’Manburg it was polite to do so, or at least take off the helmet. He figures he might as well abide by the strictest cultural norms he’s informed of to be safe.

(Even if only taking off his helmet sends a strike of vulnerability through him. Even if he’s been taught to keep any protection he can obtain and cling to it for as long as he has it before it’s ripped away.)

“Niki won’t force it to be a law, she believes in personal freedom too much for that.” Eret had told Wilbur. “But she’s trying to breed a culture of trust, rather than suspicion and wariness. Their lands are surrounded by others instead of wilderness, so there isn’t actually a need for armor. I respect her for her efforts, even if I am not planning to follow themt.”

Wilbur can not remember his father ever speaking so freely and casually of another ruler in front of him. These lands are appearing stranger and stranger with each new discovery.

Well, to be fair, he cannot remember too much of his father at this point clearly.

An individual with a white bandana opens the door and greets Eret warmly. Sapnap is his name, and Wilbur is informed that he very much likes the name Soot rather quickly.

“That’s because you’re an arsonist, Sapnap.” Eret retorts, but not with any malice or edge to it. There’s a laugh in his voice, in fact, as if it’s more of a running joke than a slight.

Sapnap grins, “Hey, I’m not going to argue with that. There’s a reason we made this house mostly out of inflammable materials.” He then opens the door wider and beckons them to enter.

“I’m afraid I have some business to attend to.” Eret informs Sapnap, readjusting his sunglasses. She had already informed him of this beforehand, so Wilbur’s not surprised. Sapnap doesn’t seem to be either.

“See ya then, Eret.” Sapnap says, “C’mon in, Soot. Dream’s downstairs in his room feeding his parrot, he’ll be up in a minute  _ or else!”  _ He says the last part in a shout directed over his shoulder.

_ “Just give it a minute!”  _ Comes a reply shout.

Sapnap just gives Wilbur an eyeroll. “He’s a dork.”

Eret already described Dream to Wilbur--typically dressed in green of any shade and wearing a white mask with a smiley face on it. He never spoke of the parrot, so Wilbur is interested to see a small cockatiel resting on his shoulder as he climbs up a ladder and emerges on their level.

“Hey there, you the new person?” Dream says, his voice casual as he keeps one hand up to let the cockatiel eat something out of his hand. “Sorry if Sap’s been bothering you. We’re in the middle of trying to train him.”

Sapnap just flips him off. “I’m going to hang out with Beckerson and Mars. At least _ they  _ appreciate me.” He says, before climbing the stairs.

“Sorry about him.” Dream says, his voice completely unapologetic. “Soot, huh? Nice to meet you. I’m Dream.” He sticks out his right hand, clad in a leather fingerless glove. His left hand is covered in bandages, and Wilbur thinks he must use an axe and shield as his main weaponry.

“Pleasure to meet you as well.” Wilbur says, shaking the hand. He’s mentally trying to pull together the fragmented memories of his etiquette training. It’s been...a long time since he’s had to use them, to put it simply.

“So, Soot,” Dream says, withdrawing his hand and sticking it and the other back in his pockets as the cockatiel finishes. It lets out a little chirp at the movement. “What’re you looking for here?”

Wilbur thinks of cold summers and colder winters, of gods and games that no one  _ really  _ came out of intact. He thinks of the king who farms himself and the president who spends her free time working at a bakery.

“Refuge.” He says honestly. “Rest.”

It’s hard to tell what Dream’s thinking under the mask. He doesn’t know the man nearly enough to be able to read his body language or hear what’s hidden in his tone.

“I won’t ask from what,” Dream says, before his voice takes on a firm edge. “But I will have to ask you this: whatever you’re running or hiding from, will it bring trouble to these lands? Answer honestly, and things will be better for you.”

Wilbur considers it. 

“I was freed willingly, and they have never been known to recapture those they let go voluntarily. That is all I know.” He speaks honestly. “I am currently just looking for a place to stay before I can make my journey home.”

Dream is silent for a moment, before saying, “Then you may have come to the right place.”

“I am starting to realize that. No offense, but these lands are...odd.” He says, letting his gaze focus on the bird. It’s easier than that blank mask that is hiding emotions that may very well lead to his doom if they are not favorable.

Dream lets out a hum that makes Wilbur suspect he’s smiling. “You’re not wrong. We’re far away, here The nearest civilization with the exception of a few trading towns is a week away by horse. We’re small, but we’re self-sustaining and peaceful. Our isolation has not proved to be a detriment.” 

Wilbur takes in the knowledge carefully. Of course the Sky Gods put him as far as possible from civilization, much less from  _ home.  _

No matter. He’ll see his family again anyway.

“Where are we on the map?” He inquires. “I’ve lost my sense of direction long ago.”

“The northwestern wilds.” Dream says. “The week-away civilization is to the sunrise. It’s a server hub. We have some maps you can borrow when you’re a little more settled in."

“I’m going to be on my way as soon as possible.”

Dream gives him a look. “You might have to stay longer than you think. No offense, but you don’t look like you can make a half-week’s travel in your condition. I don’t doubt your survival capabilities,” Dream adds as Wilbur opens his mouth to retort, “But progress requires movement, and sometimes to survive you have to stay still. It’d be better for it to be here than in the middle of a desert or dark forest.”

He’s right. Wilbur doesn’t like it.

“Fair enough.” He says, before pausing. Sapnap didn’t appear to be quite human, and the jury is still out on Eret. Dream is someone who holds great power here even without a title, and if Sapnap is his friend, then his chances are good.

“I’m a hybrid. Does that change your mind on anything?”

“No,” Dream says without hesitation. “I sort of suspected. It should not be a problem anywhere on these lands, and if you do hear something, I’ll set it straight, okay?”

Wilbur nods, only half-heartedly considering it. It depends on the situation and culture he finds himself in, he knows. He doesn’t think it will really be an issue, though, based on what he’s seen thus far.

He’s not surprised Dream knew his hybrid status either. The genetics are more subtly shown in him than Technoblade, but they’re still visible. 

His skin is a gentle pink, just a shade off of a human color but easy to confuse in depending on the lighting. His hair is a dark pink mixed with a darker brown. His sharp ears are hidden in the messy curls of his matted and hastily cut hair. Only the odd shape of his boots, the inhuman nails on his hands, and his small almost-tusks that peak out from his mouth give away clear hints to his true nature.

It’s odd how unsurprised he is. 

It’s odd, Wilbur thinks. This house, these people, these lands. With their crafting-table floors and friendly nature and the peace that intermingles with the breeze. The big castle is more for show, covered in rainbow as if daring anyone to protest its design. The writing on one of the signs has bakery items written over where cusses should be. A cat hybrid with strong-showing genes walks next to a human with goggles in the distance and no one blinks twice.

It’s odd, this place.

Wilbur thinks this oddity might be just what he needs for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes ik tanning leather isn’t simple but idc it’s a minecraft fanfic
> 
> president nikki pog
> 
> a lot of ppl are like "blaze hybrid sapnap" which is very understandable and i respect you but   
> panda hybrid sapnap  
> that is all


End file.
